Secrets in the Mirror
by RelapseAndEscape
Summary: "You finally lost those last five pounds. Dude, congrats." Finn's actually lost ten, but it's not enough for anyone to notice. He ends up fainting but it's all because he wants to help people, right? Right? TW: anorexia/eating disorder.


_"And you know, I've been singing this song since I was two so I'd be able to do it without a hitch…"_

Rachel repeated for what felt like the twenty-seventh time only that morning as she turned to look at the mirror before her as Finn acted as his vocal coach for a quick assessment of her vocal range, then they went on about for different plausible faces, and to end, Rachel had told Finn to help them do a few breathing exercises beforehand, which Finn thought were kind of stupid, but it made Rachel happy so he followed her lead without a comment, and –

He was there in the audience when she choked.

He was there to see her fall down, pride fallen as well, as she choked. And he was there for her all seven nights a week to hold her as she sobbed into his body, feeling some sort of emptiness as he looked down at her. Had he really forgotten to eat that candy bar in the morning or did it just feel wrong to enjoy the food with Rachel being so broken? Had he skipped lunch again because he was busy frantically worrying about his girlfriend? Had he spent the day holding her in his arms and making sure she was sleeping and eating that he'd forgotten to sleep and eat as well? It didn't matter, he told himself, as he held Rachel tightly, hearing the sound of his stomach as it gurgled from hunger and warmth filled its emptiness.

He pressed his head against Rachel's forehead and gave her the softest kiss he could.

"Here's to you, Rache," he whispered into her ear, and held her even just a bit closer.

Rachel whimpered in her sleep, and after a few days, had even started to sing "Don't Rain on my Parade" in her sleep in a soft, lulled voice. Hiram and Leroy made him leave the door open, and they'd always come to check up, seeing him still holding onto her baby girl. Finn stared down at her once more, as he kissed her cheek, and she held onto his shirt tightly in his sleep. She woke up with a vacant expression on her face, didn't speak much, and had insisted on baking cookies, and making chocolate to calm down her pain, and often let Finn hold the ingredients and mix in the bowls. She had never once offered him one and Finn knew it was an obvious invitation – she tasted the batter, and Finn managed to get her to eat a few cookies just to make sure she kept on eating, and sleeping, and just having something to do. To not be _alone_.

At the end of the day, as he held her, Finn realised he'd never felt so alone in his life.

* * *

_"You finally lost those last five pounds. Dude, congrats."_

The scale stuttered him the reality – that he'd lost ten pounds. He didn't really care at all about the number, just the warmth of the hunger as it rippled through his body, as it lulled him to sleep in those empty, lonely nights. Sometimes, he'd hold Rachel close, stare at the mirror and see himself as _disgusting, fat, doughy_—he'd never put a number on his body, but it was still the same disgusting, doughy, fatness that it always was and always will be. There was _nothing_beautiful about his body, and he didn't want Rachel to suffocate into his disgustingness. He wanted to be _enough_ for her.

Maybe if he wasn't so fucking fat, Rachel wouldn't have choked. She might've choked because he was her boyfriend and she was afraid that Carmen would've found out that she had a _revolting, fat, pudgy, doughy_—

Maybe if he wasn't so fucking fat, Puck wouldn't have stopped at all those fast food joints on the way home, and they wouldn't waste an hour every day and Puck could've actually gone back home and _learned_ something—

No, that wasn't like Puck anyway. He wouldn't have studied. But all Finn felt was the consuming guilt, as if it was all real and right in front of him all of the time but he just didn't want to see it. Finn tried to push all of the thoughts away as he helped Puck. He spent hours and hours trying to negotiate Puck – skip dinner deservingly, because he had to this time, he was better when he wasn't a greedy fat fuck – and the late night study sessions that went on for about a week where Finn ended up sleeping in, and when he woke up, realizing he'd probably skipped breakfast and lunch, he didn't eat any of the leftovers because after all, come a few hours and he'd eat (or shovel) dinner down his throat like the_disgusting, revolting, doughy, stubby, chubby, obese_ bastard he was.

During those late night study sessions that Blaine would circulate bags of chips around, he'd kept his share into the bag for Puck whom needed the energy boost the most. The chocolate was left all for the others that needed the brain power because after all, he didn't _need_ it.

When he'd gone back home at nearly five am, had his Mother wonder where he was, Finn simply explained his situation and she sympathised with him, hugging him as tightly as possible. "Finn, sweetheart, that's sweet of you, but what about yourself?"

Finn didn't know what she meant. She wanted to make him breakfast, but Finn opened his mouth and said. "I'm just really tired. Can you make it for me and I'll eat it later?"

When he woke up, he shovelled a whole plate of peanut butter waffles, Italian sausages, buttered scrambled eggs, and sweet delicious Nutella-stuffed pancakes down his throat_ instead of being with Rachel instead of helping Puck instead of doing something proper _and didn't eat the next day to compensate for his failure.

* * *

Finn thought he might pass out every time he stayed for bootie camp.

Mr Schue told them that they needed more and more. Some didn't show up all of the time, but Finn always showed up because out of them all, he needed the most help. When he kept on stumbling, Mr Schue gave him a bottle of water, and when he kept on stumbling still, he gave him a carton of strawberry milk that tasted sweet and sugary and because he was _chubby and portly and stout_, that one carton of strawberry milk had become his breakfast, albeit it would be three pm and he'd accustomed to eating lunch at five and dinner at eight or nine, and he felt disgusting for all of his liquid meals.

Football practice was the same, except he'd voluntarily had something beforehand – candy bar? Purged – but he still had enough energy to not fall down on the field. If he was tackled though, he might faint, so he didn't get tackled, and that was just that. When he passed by the mirror, he stared at himself, as if there was something _different_, but he can't quite well _see_.

He looked at his face, and wondered if his skin was that pale before.

* * *

Burt was at DC quite a lot, so Finn just took his shifts. An amalgamation of sweat and hard-work and after the shifts, he'd run straight to Rachel to make sure she was fine and then back to Puck whom was a little scared for the results, but wouldn't admit it and dammit if Finn knew his boy more than his boy knew himself.

He pressed his head against the metal and felt himself slip under the grasp.

His throat hurt him. His body was shaking and everything seemed so blurred and convoluted. Under the weight of his own fatigue, the scent of metal and gasoline, Finn disappeared, trying to step out of the shop, and drank himself a can of Pepsi but his body was still shaking but that was all he had in his bag. If it was no use, then he pressed his head up against the shop doorway and then purged with his stomach muscles _failure fat fucking failure chubby fucking failure flabby chunky overweight obese fucking failure_ and the last thing he remembered was the shaking getting worse and the heat of his skin as he collapsed under the weight of himself.

* * *

When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was the whiteness of the rooms.

He sat up straight and saw his Mother had been holding his hand as tightly as ever—_Carole, whose hospital shift was over with. _Burt was there too, _Burt whom was supposed to be in DC_, and Kurt was standing there speechlessly—_Kurt whom had a date with Blaine_. The first thing that Finn did was tried to get up, but Burt grabbed his shoulders and pulled him backwards. "Whoa there, you ain't going anywhere, kid."

"Finn, we found you passed out near Burt's shop at God knows what time at _night_," Carole explained, voice full of hysteria.

"What happened?" Kurt suddenly asked.

Finn opened his mouth to protest but Kurt quickly added on. "And we want the truth because nobody faints if they've been taking care of themselves—and Dr Bennett just confirmed you're severely anaemic, and have very low levels of antibodies in your blood."

Finn pressed his head against the pillow.

"What do you want me to say?" Finn suddenly asked, staring at Kurt with broken brown eyes.

"The _truth_, Finn…the truth." Kurt said thoughtfully.

"You'd think I'm insane," Finn said, staring at the wall before looking back at those comforting, sweet blue eyes. "Dude, I just wanted…to be good enough, you know? I wanted—I wanted to _help_."

"Finn, what do you mean? You're seriously _scaring_ me—"

"I _don't_ eat, Kurt."

Finn was breathing out erratically now.

Burt was trying to think of a response, as he bit down his lower lip. "You mean you're not hungry, kiddo or—?"

"_Starving_, all of the time," Finn stared up at Burt, with sombre eyes.

"Then you just don't feel appealed to anything—?" Carole tried to reason with him.

"Dammit, _no_!" Finn suddenly burst out and knew he'd regret the words the minute he said them. "I mean I am so fucking_disgusted_ with myself that I _starve_. I mean I'm _hungry_ all the time but _I don't eat_…I mean I'm large and chunky and plump and heavy and chubby and fat and disgusting and hefty and flabby and round and _freakin' obese_ and I don't want to eat anymore. If I spend all of my damn time stuffing my fat face in, then I can't help Rache, or Puck and I can't work the shop or…be there for football or bootie camp…I mean…I mean _I'm not good enough_."

There was silence around the room.

Kurt was staring at him with huge eyes, unable to fathom the words he'd just heard. "Correct me if I'm wrong Doctor…" his voice was shaky. "But that's an _eating disorder_."

"No, no, no, no, there has to be some sort of mistake—"Carole was shaking. "My baby doesn't have any eating issues. He loves food. He can't—"

"I'm sorry, Mom. You're _right_. I don't. I—"

"Stop this," Burt suddenly said. "You can't please everyone all of the damn time, Finn. You can't go around not eating and then expect us to drop it? If Rachel didn't eat, what would you do? If Puck, if Kurt, if your Mom or me…what the hell would you do?"

Finn shook his head. "I'm _fine_. I'm too fat to have an eating disorder."

"There's no such thing," Kurt hurried after that accusation. "There is no such thing as too fat to have an eating disorder, Finn. That's a conjuration your mind made up—it doesn't exist. You need help, baby brother and we're going to help you."

Finn stared back up at Kurt before shaking his head. "I just wanted to help. Honest."

"I know," Kurt nodded his head, and ran his fingers through Finn's brittle hair. "Okay, Finn? We know…"

* * *

Rachel stared down at Finn, cupping his cheek and then gasped at how cold he was.

"Finn," Rachel begged of him. "Finn, you can't keep on doing this to yourself, okay? You've got to get better for _us_."

"Rachel, I am so _sorry—_you're just trying to get over the NYADA thing and I…"

"Finn!" Rachel exclaimed. "Finn, you _can't_ be serious….when…when's the last time you ate? I brought some of my cookies and Dr Bennett said some people with anorexia—"

"I don't _have_ freakin' anorexia. I think you have to have like a weight that has a body mass index of 17.5 or less."

Rachel didn't know what shocked her more, that Finn actually knew that type of information, or the fact that he probably somehow knew himself that he had a problem and checked it out, only to be shoot down.

"Finn."

Finn looked away, and Rachel asked him again. "When's the last time you ate?"

"When your Dads made that weird vegan lasagne thing and you made me try it so I did because it made you happy."

Rachel's eyes pricked with tears. "Finn…you are aware that's nearly _four days ago_, right?"

Finn shrugged. "Actually five and a half…one hundred and thirty-two hours, _but who's counting, right_?" Finn added humourlessly at the end.

Rachel brought her arms around Fin and then held him tightly. For the first time, she slept beside him on the hospital bed, returning him the favour. Finn did not touch any food, and was reluctant to even drink water which scared the hell out of Rachel that someone could be so far in that they were hesitant about even water. When they woke up, Rachel gave Finn a cookie.

Finn shook his head.

"Finn, it's just a _biscuit_."

"But it's _not_, Rache! I'm gonna eat everything if I do eat, you know?" Finn said, voice raw with angst. "If I start eating something, it's like my body will just go into _food, food, food_, and eat fucking _everything_. I'll never get full like that, you know?"

"Then eat everything, Finn. I'm very willing to drive anywhere to get you anything."

Finn looked tempted by the idea at first, and then was revolted at himself for even considering it, before shaking his head. "No, Rache."

As it passed, Puck seemed to walk there, looking rather vengeful. Sam, Blaine and Artie followed tentatively. Mike looked quite uncertain with what they were going to do. Blaine grabbed Finn's shoulder, and Mike pinned his wrists. "What are you—?"

Puck grabbed something out of a brown bag, chocolate, and then bit into the wrapper, throwing it away, before bringing it to Finn's mouth.

"You're gonna force to fucking—"

Puck shoved the food into Finn's mouth, hand shaking. Finn choked underneath the taste of the chocolate, and then shook his head. "No, Puck, please—"

"Dude, you're _dying_ and you're _killing yourself_ and—"

Finn shook his head.

Artie held the bag even tighter. "Finn, this isn't okay. You would've done the same for us."

Finn didn't do anything because he knew it was true. When Blaine saw tears burning down his eyes, all Blaine can do was shut his own eyes to keep tears from falling down. Sam grabbed Finn's chin and let him stare at him. "Look at this…look at you! Even for me, you're _too_ fucking thin, alright?"

Finn opened his mouth but shook his head, as he felt tears trail down his eyes even harder. "You're lying to me."

"That's it! Evans, open his mouth, Anderson, hold him down and Wheels, open up another wrapper. And yes, Hudson, I am force-feeding you." At their instructions being followed, Puck shoved the bar down his throat, gave him a cold Pepsi to drink, then gave him another chocolate bar. When they were done with at least that, Finn stared back at them.

"I am so sorry."

"What do you—?"

Finn shoved his fingers down his throat in an explosive impact, and turned to the side, throwing up the contents of his stomach into the trashcan. Puck stared at him horrifically as Finn stared back up at him. Puck grabbed Finn's shoulders and then shook him. "Do you _want_ to _die_?"

"I'd rather be _dead_ than _fat_," Finn quickly answered.

"Don't make me…" Finn felt Puck cup his cheek. It was a gentle gesture as Puck let tears fall down his face, unguarded.

"Puck." Finn called out, unsure.

"I fucking can't believe you're gonna _sit there_ and let us watch you _die_, okay?" Puck snapped, but the tears only fell harder.

It hit him harder when the girls came to visit him to try and get him to eat something. _Anything_ really.

Mercedes shoved him a huge container full of different bakery items, trying to get him to choose something he liked. Tina tried to at least get him to drink a milkshake. Rachel offered to eat something if he would as well. Rachel had broken her veganism at least six different times from trying to get Finn to eat something by encouraging him by picking up anything and making sure she sounded like she was enjoying the food.

"Even Cheerio's don't get that thin," was Quinn's words, as Brittany and Santana slowly nodded their heads.

"Hey, Bones, eat something," Santana demanded. "Don't care if it's my finger. We can bake up Rache if you want us to, you know?"

Finn stared at Santana with a grave expression on his face, as he nodded. "I will. Later."

"When? On your dying day? Have one final meal before you die sort of thing?"

Finn ushered to Quinn with her fingers. "Kurt?" he hoped.

It had taken Kurt all of five minutes to run into the hospital room, bolting towards them, with curlers still in his hair, as he stared at Finn with wide eyes. "Yes?"

Finn was shocked that Kurt would even present himself like that to the general public. "Finn?"

Finn picked up a croissant and then let Kurt bite into it. Kurt ate diligently, and then Finn brought it towards his lips, biting into the pastry. "Sweetie, go on." Kurt said, taking a bigger bite. Finn's portion matched Kurt's. At the end, Finn followed whatever Kurt ate and even though Kurt felt like he was going to burst, he still kept on going, seeing as Finn's hunger was on a nearly two week hunger strike so was much more spacious than Kurt's fed one.

As Finnegan Hudson passed by the mirrors of his bathroom, he stared at himself. He looked different…still disgusting, still revolting, still fat. Finn shut the door, slid his shirt, and stared at himself in the mirror. He cried. He cried because he can't bear to look at his fatass staring back at himself in the mirror. He grabbed a fistful of his bloated stomach, disgusting, revolting, nauseating _fat_. He tried to fist his skin, but it skid as Finn pressed his hand just above his ribcage, his _disgustingly fat_ visible ribcage.


End file.
